


Sound That Only You Can Hear

by chesapeake ripoff (turnofthesentry)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Coitus Interruptus, Control Issues, Dirty Talk, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Mind Games, Mutual Masturbation, Power Play, Sensory Deprivation, Therapy, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/chesapeake%20ripoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill. <b>Prompt:</b> "[S]omething that plays with the rotating power dynamic between them. Possibly an alternating mindfuck sort of situation, probably in a therapy context and touching on their sessions together, or(/and) a voyeurism angle where they can watch and/or hear one another but aren't physically touching."</p>
<p>It was a chore guiding the relatively stubborn Abel Gideon, but it was one he assumed would be worth bearing. The man was a fascinating puzzle that Chilton wanted dibs on solving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound That Only You Can Hear

"Well, Abel, tell me. How do you feel?" 

Frederick Chilton's voice drawled softly, just loudly enough to register in Abel Gideon's consciousness. Dr. Gideon sat forward, his wrists handcuffed in his lap and his eyes faintly glazed over. He had been sedated earlier that morning so that he would sit quietly and listen to the two alternating audio bytes that Dr. Chilton wanted him to hear and absorb, on loop, as an experiment; one a forensics analysis of the Chesapeake Ripper's crimes and methodology, and the other his own court appearance almost two years ago. His own voice and crimes mingled through his head to overlap the cold evaluation of the wound pattern on one of the Ripper's victims. Chilton wasn't yet seeking a particular result, but testing the waters of Gideon's brain. 

Though by now the sedation had nearly lifted entirely, the routine still left Gideon tired. Therapy left him tired. He didn't feel as if there were anything about _himself_ he wasn't understanding, but Chilton took a particular interest in him. Flattering, Gideon supposed. 

He shrugged his shoulders, palms open. "What do you want me to say? I feel... _tired._ Bored. Hungry. Nostalgic. Horny. Status quo… honestly." 

Gideon was candid by nature ever since he murdered his wife and her family; he felt no need to be less than honest most of the time, as if killing his wife had also killed his fear for consequence. Now that he was locked up he knew he was held to different standards. Most of the nurses found it charming. Dr. Chilton, he knew, disdained it. 

Chilton pursed his lips to hide his own impatience, trying to keep his voice as soothing and helpful as possible. It was a chore guiding the relatively stubborn Abel Gideon, but it was one he assumed would be worth bearing. The man was a fascinating puzzle that Chilton wanted dibs on solving. 

"What about the tapes?" He asked carefully, resting his chin on his fist. "Honesty is most vital at this juncture. Both with me and with _yourself._ But of course it _is_ imperative that you take your time." 

"Take my time, right, I do have plenty of _that._ Don't I." Gideon's eyes drifted upward to meet Chilton's, and though they were distant they were also alert, growing more aware of his surroundings as the sedation wore off fully. Now and then they darted from wall to wall lazily. "You already know what I _do_ remember."

There was a hint of regret (or something like it) in his tone, a subconscious apology for not making progress; more to himself and his own sense of dignity, of course, than to Chilton. Chilton sat back in his chair. 

"You'll get there, Abel." He drummed his fingers against the desk's smooth veneer, fingernails clicking, before he sat up again. "In the meanwhile, I would like to try another experiment. If I may." 

"Well. What have I got to lose?" Gideon murmured thoughtfully, leaning forward with his elbows upon his knees. His head cocked inquisitively, perhaps offering Chilton more attention than he should. "I'm listening." 

"I'm convinced that the key to ending your struggle lies deep within your subconscious. I even wonder that if once you let go of your inhibitions… _however_ subtle they may be… this… block of yours may lift so that the rest can fall into place. It's, of course, why we've pursued your current path of therapy. You do respond… in very small increments. So minute they may seem to you like nothing." 

Gideon's eyebrows furrowed impatiently. 

"My struggle," he repeated. He wasn't fully sure what his struggle even was. "So what's your recommendation?" 

"It _is_ a little unorthodox, but you need to look at it as a gateway. Part of a much _grander_ picture. Once your mind has opened, we can proceed as we would normally. I'm sure you know what sensory deprivation is." 

"Ah. Yes. In fact I do." Gideon slouched his shoulders, raising his eyebrow and letting his tongue dart thoughtfully across his upper lip. "Surprised that you do. Go on." 

"I'll put a blindfold on you," Chilton said, a little stiffly but refusing to acknowledge the jibe. "Turn you away from my desk. It might even be best, in fact, if we _both_ face opposite directions for _true_ authenticity. You must feel _entirely_ isolated -- therefore the first ten minutes must also pass in complete silence. Then. I want you to say whatever comes first to your mind." 

"Indeed unorthodox," Gideon said, running his tongue over his lip again. "You know. True isolation really _is_ hard to come by around here. There's the guards, the other inmates… the cameras… all this attention and still no one to talk to. You want me to be myself. Is that right?" 

"Yes." 

What he really wanted was to let Gideon's subconscious drift to the surface. Given the opportunity, Chilton suspected that the tapes and their therapy would finally begin to show their influence. They simply needed some help. 

"But I won't _be_ alone, will I?" 

"I don't have to say a word," Chilton said, holding his hands out. "Unless you want me to. You can say whatever you'd like. Maybe something will trigger an insight." 

"Ah. How _splendid."_ Gideon's tone was sarcastic, but his smile was real. "Rare opportunity indeed. Amazing to consider that you could ever _possibly_ stop speaking." 

"Ah ah." Chilton stood, hiding his abrupt indignation by turning so that he could fetch a swatch of cloth to tie over Gideon's eyes. "Careful. If you won't cooperate then I can't help you." 

"Oh yes, let's not speak. Don't want to ruin the moment," Gideon said coyly, drawing a finger to his lips as Chilton applied the blindfold and turned his chair. Chilton felt his pulse speed up just the slightest bit, tension mounting in the room as he turned his own chair away to match. Gideon was a model patient, but very adept at pushing buttons. He often found ways of flustering Chilton that Chilton wasn't sure Gideon was even conscious of. "Goes without saying, I assume, this is going to be our little secret." 

"Just for propriety's sake, yes. And your own privacy, of course. Now. Hush." 

Chilton sat facing his bookshelves, hands folded in his lap. A clock clicked steadily. 

Ten minutes was a long expanse of time to do absolutely nothing in -- he didn't even read so as to avoid the distracting sound of page-turning. He heard Gideon's hoarse breathing behind him and let his eyes slowly close. He thought of Gideon's restless tongue and complaints about his lack of privacy, his pulse quickening more as he licked his own lips. _Very sexually frustrated,_ Chilton thought. 

Gideon was, evidenced perhaps by his slow, heavy breathing and restless finger-drumming on his chair's armrest. He was not an excessively libidinous man, but in the hospital he had little to no means to address any errant erotic urges or needs if he didn't want to be watched or listened to during. Candid though he was, he wasn't shameless. 

Not that thought wasn't tempting anyway at times, when it became difficult to focus on anything else. Like now. Often he debated whether or not he should feel that projected lust onto his doctor was acceptable or uncomfortable, because he knew that had to fall under some kind of complex or fixation. It wasn't encouraged. Frederick Chilton was no Alana Bloom -- a fixation in her own right -- but he _was_ Gideon's primary and most consistent source of conversation and stability during Gideon's time at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, particularly in more recent months. Understandable enough, given that he was his doctor. More so understandable given that Chilton was known to sometimes measure blood pressure through a cuff on the groin rather than the arm, leaving behind very particular associations in Gideon's mind. 

If _that_ was unorthodox, it had never been mentioned. 

He decided it was a _bit_ uncomfortable, if only because of how it was quickly overwhelming the session. With his eyes covered Gideon could hear every sound in the room amplified, his own heartbeat and breath thrumming in his ears. The seconds ticking, the squeak of Chilton's chair and the rustle of Chilton's jacket. Gideon's hands, still cuffed, moved from drumming the chair to rest anxiously in his lap. 

_Just what are you up to over there, Doctor?_ he wondered, exhaling slowly. He listened carefully for each slight whisper of fabric movement. 

_I think he wants to masturbate,_ Chilton thought, biting the corner of his lip as his mouth pulled in a reluctant smirk. His face had heated mildly at the thought. _So desperately frustrated that that's where the blindness is directing his focus. How sad._

It was an unironic thought, despite Chilton's own present state of sexual inactivity. He wasn't inhibited by a cell or watchful guards, but he wasn't dating nor married, either. Like Gideon (or unlike), he had only himself for company, but he still saw no comparison between the two of them. His hand rested on his thigh, moving in small circles. 

_I wonder if his agitation was inspired at all by the Chesapeake Ripper tapes. Does he associate his murders -- or any murders -- with some form of sexual pleasure? After all he did kill his wife. The scoundrel._

_Is he really facing away from me, or is he watching right now? No way to know… couldn't put it past him, the cad._ Gideon's nose had wrinkled, his lower lip very red under the clutch of his teeth. He kneaded his wrists and the chain linking the handcuffs against his lap slowly though it only barely provided any sort of satisfaction. 

_Did he plan this all out? I did tell him I was-- ah. How curious._

An alarm dinged, quiet but jarring. Gideon jolted with a sharp inhale, Chilton with an exhale. Silence hung in the air for another moment before it registered fully that the ten minutes had passed. 

"Doctor. Doo-- _ohh_ ctor--" Gideon drawled needfully, his voice carrying despite its low volume at just above a whisper. After the silence Chilton couldn't discern immediately if what he was hearing was real rather than just in his mind, but it rang in his ears. 

"What do you want, Abel?" He hissed lowly, his face filling slightly with color. His voice was also quiet, though as composed as he could handle so suddenly. His hand still rested innocuously on his thigh, _near_ but not on his groin. 

"I can say whatever I'd like. Wasn't that the rule?" 

"Yes…" 

"Good… good. Because I--" Though he hesitated, debating if he should admit his arousal -- however probably obvious -- out loud. Chilton usually leapt upon any sign of vulnerability in him hungrily, pursuing every possible thread and opportunistically seeking to bleed Gideon dry. Of what exactly it was hard to say, but Gideon still knew to be careful when it came to offering up weakness. He had to compromise. 

"...I feel I may just go mad, here." 

"Mad. With. What?" Chilton's voice was soft, though smug enough to needle Gideon. Pushing him to voice the problem in full. "Lust? Abel, you were supposed to be reflecting upon yourself." 

"And I _was._ But doctor -- Frederick, I can call you that, can't I? A man's mind and his passion are not mutually exclusive. You mentioned inhibitions…" 

"I did," Chilton admitted. His own voice was a little strained, breathless, which wasn't lost on Gideon. "You know I can't uncuff you." 

"Oh I _know,"_ Gideon murmured. Even if Chilton could, Gideon was certain that he wouldn't. It would upset the balance of power too strongly. "If you did I might just have to… I don't know. Grab you." 

"Grab me." Chilton's voice edged higher. "And do what, Abel? Is that a _threat?"_

"Is it really _so_ wrong to want to feel someone _else_ for a change, Frederick? I may have killed my wife but I didn't castrate myself in the process. Grab you… put you in my mouth, for starters…" 

_"Dr. Chilton,"_ Chilton corrected, before he focused on the rest. He exhaled. "Just because the Chesapeake Ripper harvested organs from his victims doesn't mean you need to go as far as--" 

"Not like that," Gideon said impatiently. His head tilted back, blindfolded eyes staring up toward the ceiling. "Your cock, Frederick. I mean your _cock."_

Chilton swallowed, muscles tensing. His hand gripped his thigh a little more tightly, sliding upward. 

"Oh?" His voice was a little softer than he intended, caught in his throat. Thank goodness Gideon had no way of seeing his reddening face. He forced a chuckle, speaking patronizingly. "You must know that's impossible, you aren't that delusional. I must make that very clear. I am your doctor." 

"Not the point of this exercise, is it? _Whatever_ I'd like to say. Your words. I'm just following orders," Gideon huffed, feeling sweat begin to bead under the lip of the blindfold. His hand slipped to his inner thigh, stroking at flesh without really stroking. 

Chilton swallowed. "Very well, Abel. If you insist on airing your perversions to me I won't stop you. It isn't impossible you'll have something to say that's actually relevant to your treatment. Erotic passion and emotional passion… obviously do have some overlap." 

"Well there's no need to be so judgmental." Gideon's fingers clutched impatiently at the fabric of his pants. 

"It's my job to judge you," Chilton said, his tone making it clear he took enjoyment in the fact. "Were you going to go on, or have you already spent yourself?" 

"Not at all. Simply… thinking. If I were by your desk… well, kneeling beneath… hmm. Wonder what it'd feel like. You've touched my groin enough times, _doctor_ , but you never let me return the favor." 

_"Strictly_ in a professional capacity," Chilton interjected, his breath coming more quickly. His hand had made it between his legs, poised just below his belt. His fingers applied uneasy pressure to the curve of his slight erection. "You must know that." 

"Whatever you say. Point stands." 

A moment passed. Chilton felt a little embarrassed at feeling impatient at the silence. 

"Would you say you have an oral fixation?" He finally asked. He pictured Gideon licking his lip at the question. 

"Sssh," Gideon said, sweating a little more and squirming his hips in his chair. "Just let me… mm." 

Panting, he imagined himself kneeling between Chilton's legs, un-handcuffed so that he could maneuver Chilton's cock within his mouth himself rather than let Chilton guide him. With Chilton in the same room, even picturing how his flesh would feel -- tremulous and slightly cold, but warming the more attention Gideon paid it -- seemed barely fantasy, and just short of reality. He growled lowly. 

"W-what are you doing now?" Chilton huffed hesitantly, tilting his head back slightly and parting his legs. He also imagined Gideon in between them, clutching Chilton's thighs with his careful surgeon's fingers as Chilton's own hands buried into Gideon's hair. He hissed, biting his lower lip. "I mean. After." 

"Somewhat of one," Gideon said, a little disjointedly. He didn't clarify for another moment, then added: "An oral fixation. But I don't... _only_ indulge in fixations. I think sex is a very flexible pastime in that regard." 

His voice was tense despite all efforts to sound calm, his breath heaving just short of excessively; he could and did take comfort in the fact Chilton's breathing behind him matched his in its heavy, heated franticness. Gideon could still think clearly enough to know he should be cautious in how he continued this "fantasy"; he should accommodate both his needs and what he presumed were Chilton's, lest the man feel _threatened_ enough to take it out on Gideon in later therapy (or, heaven forbid, withhold some of Gideon's well-earned privileges) but without pandering. Or _surrendering._

It would be easy, he thought, though he resented the practicality. It felt almost like being married again. 

"As you must be yourself, Abel. Isn't that right. Evidenced by--" Chilton hissed between his teeth. "--Your lack of concern for even answering questions in the right order." 

"Don't get me started." Gideon rubbed himself a little harder with his fingers, pressing through the thin fabric of his uniform. "Patience, Frederick. Hardly done with you just yet. Once you were decently… well, _tended to_ \-- very red too, I imagine… it's infallible, when you're agitated -- then the clear next step would be to move on and sit down on your lap. You know, good and… slowly--" 

"What about the desk?" Chilton offered, a little breathlessly. He had to clear his throat. "Mine. My desk," he clarified. 

"No," Gideon said sharply. "Now that would just be scandalous." 

"… Very well. Yes, of course, better to take it slow. It'd be a shame for you to get so overexcited. So soon." 

"Or _you."_ But they were both beyond that point, both also hindered by their circumstantial limitations. The supposedly uncrossable barrier loomed closer now, practically slamming itself against their flushed faces. "I'd--" 

The alarm dinged again; both of them jerked in their chairs, almost choking on their own gasps. Chilton rubbed his palm across his damp forehead, turning his chair so that he could look at the clock. 

"That's embarrassing," Gideon said. "Finishing prematurely." 

"That's quite enough," Chilton hissed, standing and attempting to compose himself before he went over to remove the blindfold from Gideon's eyes. The session hadn't been any shorter than usual, but apparently time did fly when you were occupied. 

He rested his hands on the back of Gideon's chair, looking down at the man before he did anything else. It hadn't been a typical session by any means, although illuminating in its own regard. Gideon was a model patient who was still capable of moments of very little restraint, primarily when desperate enough to let himself be led. Lapses. Chilton couldn't let himself forget that flexibility of Gideon's; an adaptive patient was just what he was seeking. 

"What a shame that we are out of time. I hope for your sake you're in fit condition to be led out of here," Chilton continued, his voice resuming his usual smooth and airy tone. 

"Oh yes. Can't let the people talk. Just for propriety's sake and my own privacy, of course," Gideon said, nose wrinkled, though his face -- like Chilton's -- was still quite flushed. He blinked several times, squinting into the office's dimmed light when Chilton removed the blindfold. "Well. Great session. You've taken a load off my mind." 

"I'm sure," Chilton said, helping Gideon up so as to guide him to the door. A guard would be standing outside about now, waiting to escort Gideon back to his cell. "Until next time, Abel. I sincerely hope that next session finds you more understanding. Certainly less... tense." He chuckled. Gideon gave him a deadpan look. 

"I've no doubt our relationship will only improve from here on out," he said, wryly. "I can't imagine why not."


End file.
